How the Years Have Flown
by Paceso
Summary: In piecing together the events for "Hallowe'en Darkness", I imagined a headcanon about Harry's broomstick, and the thought of writing it was irresistible. Here it is. My apologies for choosing to list it as "Pre-Hogwarts" - it has elements of pre- and post- and next generation, so it was very hard to categorise.


**How the Years Have Flown**

 **October 31** **st** **, 1981:**

As Hagrid turned to leave the bedroom of the ruined house, with 15-month-old Harry held closely in his arms, his eyes fell on the little toy broomstick leaning against the wall, and he picked it up with a strangled sob. Harry was going to live with Muggles, but Hagrid hoped fervently there would be time for one last broomstick ride before that. He put Harry carefully into the sidecar of Sirius's motorbike with the broomstick tucked securely in beside him, sat astride the bike and kicked the engine into life. As he soared upward, the house below him dwindled until its gaping roof was a mere spot on the ground. Hagrid set his course toward Hogwarts, trusting that one day Harry would be able to recover from the terrible blow fate had dealt him so early in life.

Harry woke late the following day. He had been tired out, and Hagrid had left him to sleep undisturbed, though every now and then he had gone into the hut to check that Harry was all right. Apart from occasionally crying out in his sleep, most of the time he had slept peacefully.

After he awoke, Hagrid fed Harry some porridge and then let him play with Electra, the baby unicorn he was hand-rearing. Occasionally Hagrid would scoop him up and hug him tightly, but Harry was too young to understand why his giant friend was so unhappy. The momentous events which he had been part of the previous night, which were being talked about everywhere in excitement, sorrow, wonder and relief, were far beyond his comprehension.

When Hagrid brought out the familiar broomstick just after lunch Harry reached for it eagerly, before suddenly looking puzzled.

"Daddy here?" he said questioningly.

"Nah, Daddy can' come," said Hagrid with a gulp.

"Siwwius?"

This was even more difficult to answer. Hagrid was aware by this time that Sirius had been arrested for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggles, and was being held responsible for James' and Lily's deaths as a result of betraying the Fidelius Charm.

"No' Sirius either," he said gently to the bewildered boy. "Look, Harry, if yeh fly on th' broomstick, Electra will run. See?"

He gave Electra a little push, and she trotted away over the grass on her long legs, then came back and nuzzled Harry before cantering off again. Harry looked at her, then at Hagrid. Hagrid nodded at him.

"S'okay, Harry, go on."

Harry put one small leg over the broomstick, then kicked off from the ground and zoomed after Electra. She dodged him as he rushed over her, then swerved sideways. Harry pulled the broomstick around and followed her, and his bubbly chuckle sounded for the first time that day. Hagrid heaved a sigh of relief. Harry's unnatural solemnity had been more than somewhat unnerving, and he was relieved to have overcome it. Electra seemed to be enjoying the play as much as Harry was, and it was quite some time before she galloped back towards Hagrid, Harry close behind her on the broomstick, and took refuge behind his great bulk. As Harry tumbled off the broomstick onto the grass, Electra stepped daintily around Hagrid and lay down beside her playmate, her head lying beside his and her beautiful horn with its delicate rainbow tints glistening in the sun.

Shortly before four o'clock in the afternoon, Hagrid was busy feeding his animals when a glowing silver phoenix alighted softly in front of him and spoke in Dumbledore's voice.

"It's time, Hagrid."

He clutched the bucket he was holding. Although he had known the moment must come, he was dreading having to take Harry away from the magical world that was all he knew. James and Lily's son, growing up with Muggles – it didn't bear thinking about!

He went to collect Harry, who was dodging about near the Whomping Willow. Harry was too small for the tree to do more than brush him with the very tips of its slender branches, and Harry had developed a kind of solo game of Tip with it, where he would dart in towards the trunk, the tree would flail its branches and try to touch him, and Harry would run away again, giggling.

Hagrid marvelled at the resilience of small children, and then called to Harry.

"Harry, we have ter go on th' motorbike now."

Harry ran eagerly across to Hagrid. "Siwwius bike?"

"Yeah, Sirius's bike," said Hagrid uneasily.

He hoped Harry wouldn't ask any more questions, and was relieved when Harry ran across the grass toward the bike, shouting, "Bike, bike, bike."

For the second time in twenty-four hours, Hagrid settled Harry securely in the bike's sidecar and took off.

.

.

 **Twenty-four years later:**

Hagrid looked again at the invitation he had received by owl two weeks ago. It read:

"Dear Hagrid, we're having a first birthday party for James Sirius on the 26th of this month at 2pm, and would love to have you there. Please let us know if you can come. Love, Harry and Ginny."

He had sent off his acceptance by return owl, and was looking forward to seeing them all again that afternoon. It seemed almost impossible that twenty-four years had passed since Harry had zoomed around Hogwarts on his toy broomstick and played with Electra. But now Harry was grown up and had his own child. As his thoughts flashed back to that momentous day, full of mingled sorrow and rejoicing, Hagrid suddenly remembered something he hadn't thought of for years. He went to the big cupboard at the back of his hut and rummaged around vigorously, finally giving vent to a loud exclamation of satisfaction. He emerged, and in his hand was a small toy broomstick. Harry's broomstick.

When Hagrid had set off to take Harry to Privet Drive all those years ago, the broomstick had been left behind at Hagrid's hut. Hagrid had found it there when he returned from Surrey, and had kept it as a memento of happier days. Of course Harry couldn't have taken it with him anyway; those Muggles he lived with (Hagrid snorted to himself at this point) would probably have burnt it. It had been pushed to the back of the cupboard, and was long forgotten by the time Harry had arrived at school ten years later.

Promptly at two o'clock that afternoon, Hagrid arrived at Harry's and Ginny's house, a long parcel under his arm. Ginny opened the door to him, and drew Hagrid in to join the happy group celebrating in the living room. So many old friends were there – Luna, Neville, and of course Ron and Hermione and the rest of the Weasley family. Hagrid beamed at them all, then remembered the parcel he had brought. He held it out to Harry.

"I brough' somethin' for James."

Harry took it and unwrapped it. As the wooden handle of the broomstick came into view, Ginny exclaimed, "It's a toy broomstick! Oh well, I suppose he's bound to be a Quidditch player; he might as well start young."

The room broke into delighted laughter. As the ripple of amusement died down, Hagrid cleared his throat and spoke again.

"It's yours, Harry." Then, realising that might be taken wrongly, he added, "Th' one yeh had when yeh were little. Th' one Sirius gave yeh on yer own firs' birthday. I took it from the house with yeh tha' night."

Harry stared at him speechlessly. He looked down at the broomstick in his hands, tears pricking at the back of his eyes. He remembered the words his mother had written so long ago, that he had read on the page of notepaper he had found in Sirius's bedroom – " _It was his favourite by far. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick."_ He could hardly believe that this was the very same broomstick.

He was not the only one with tears in his eyes. The whole room had gone quiet, understanding just how much this would mean to Harry who, between the loss of his parents in babyhood, the time spent living with Muggles, and the unpredictability of the year spent hunting for horcruxes, had been able to keep so few of his childhood possessions. To have one returned so suddenly and unexpectedly – and after so many years – was very precious indeed.

Harry swallowed, then looked up into Hagrid's kindly eyes.

"I – I don't know what to say," he said eventually, speaking with difficulty because of the lump in his throat. The sight of the broomstick had suddenly made him feel as if those dearly loved people – his mother, his father and Sirius – were close by him after all, despite having been so long dead. "I–it's Dad, and Mum, and Sirius...it's – everything. Thank you." His words were heartfelt, and the roomful of family and friends broke into sympathetic clapping.

Ginny gave him a warm hug and smiled through her tears. "We should let James Sirius try it out right now."

Harry nodded wordlessly. He knelt down and held out the broomstick to James Sirius, and patiently showed him how to sit on the broomstick and kick off from the ground. They all applauded again as James flew unsteadily across the room, squealing with pleasure. He fell off as he reached the wall, but turned around and tried again...and again...and again, until he could fly unwaveringly from one end of the room to the other.

And as little James Sirius zoomed around the living room laughing, and chased a different cat into the hallway and back, Harry had a sudden surge of memory from a time when he had been the one on the broomstick and two black-haired men – one with short untidy hair and one with shaggy shoulder-length hair – had just roared with laughter at his own first attempt at flying on that selfsame broom.

Harry smiled. James and Sirius would have been proud, he knew, and maybe James Sirius would one day continue the family Quidditch tradition.


End file.
